


parva

by MissjuliaMiriam



Series: Ut Malis Melior [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Epistolary, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissjuliaMiriam/pseuds/MissjuliaMiriam
Summary: The "scraps" collection for "ut malis melior". Will include bits and pieces from various places within the continuity of the fic - keep an eye on the chapter titles to avoid spoilers if you haven't read the whole main fic.





	1. Sirius&Dumbledore Epistolary - Book 1 Chapter 8

**Author's Note:**

> "Parva" is Latin for "small things"!
> 
> Realistically, some of these will be smaller than others, and may be fairly infrequent - I don't know how many extras I'll really have. But we'll see! These are also mostly for my own reference, so that I have a sense of what was going on behind the scenes; I took them out in editing or left them out entirely for a reason, so they'll mostly be pretty rough.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_January 4, 1992_  
_Hello Headmaster,_

_I hope you’re doing well, and that everything’s fine and dandy over there at Hogwarts. I’ve been hearing some stories from Harry—it’s really great to know that everything is ticking along, at least as far as a first year can tell._

_You might be able to guess, but I’m writing to ask if you’d be willing to let Harry come stay with Remus and I over the summer hols. And ongoing, if possible. He was a delight to have at Christmas, and we’d love to see more of him. I know that it would be impossible for us to apply for custody properly, given Remus’s status, but he could just come stay, couldn’t he? Now that he’s at Hogwarts there’s not much point in the secrecy any more, and most of the Death Eaters (at least those who seemed nutty enough to attack openly) have been locked up. He seemed to think that his aunt and uncle wouldn’t mind, either._

_So: how about it?_

_Yours,_  
_Sirius Black_

_—_

_January 12_  
_Dear Sirius,_

_It’s lovely to hear from you again, my boy. I’m glad you enjoyed Harry’s company at Christmas; he was quite pleased as well, I believe._

_As to your request, I will admit I am hesitant. If anyone were to find out that a child had been left in the (even unofficial) custody of a werewolf, we could all end up in a great deal of trouble. I must also ask: did you ask Harry about his feelings? And has he been informed about Remus’s condition?_

_I do thank you again for your understanding in letting Harry go to live in the Muggle world. I know it has been difficult for you these past years, unable to go visit. I would that you had been able to see him, but Petunia, as you may recall, was quite firm. Has Harry spoken at all of his family’s opinion, beyond that he believed they would accept his spending time with you over the summer?_

_Sincerely,_  
_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_  
_Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_—_

_January 28_  
_Dear Headmaster,_

_I suppose I understand. We did talk to Harry about Remus’s condition; he was totally fine with it. A real relief, actually. And yes, I asked him if he’d like to come stay. He was enthused about it._

_I talked to him again before I wrote this letter and he said that his aunt and uncle would definitely be okay with it. I said I’d write them and ask myself, but he said I shouldn’t—apparently they’re not fans of the magical world. Magic makes them nervous, he said._

_I have to say: I don’t really like the way he talks about them. He’s subtle about it (I was surprised to find out that he was in Slytherin, but I can see it suits him now that I know him better; he reminds me a little of Reg when he was this age), but he’s also very evasive, doesn’t talk much about what it’s like at home. Some of his comments… they bother me. I don’t want to speculate, but I’d also like to get him out of their house for a while, see if he’ll open up a bit more once he feels more secure with me._

_Sirius_

_—_

_February 1_  
_Dear Sirius,_

_That does set my mind at rest in some ways. In others I find myself more disturbed. I had no sense that Harry’s home life was less than happy—I hope that your suspicions, such as they are, prove untruthful._

_That said: I cannot yet agree to your taking him for the summer, as I do yet worry about Harry’s safety in the magical world, as well the potential discovery of his staying with a werewolf by the Ministry. I, of course, have no hesitations related to Remus’s condition, but I would not risk your getting in trouble and access to Harry being restricted from you any further._

_Perhaps you might, however, take him over the Easter holidays. A week is enough to get a sense of if you would be comfortable with having him in residence for a longer period, and he could get to know you better. Feel free to let him know that he is welcome to take the train to London for Easter, and you are welcome to pick him up. I would caution you to be wary of Remus coming to the station; I would also hope that you would request Harry’s discretion from him on the subject. But I’m sure that has already occurred to you._

_My best wishes—I hope the three of you enjoy the holiday, and will let me know how it went after the students return to school._

_Sincerely,_  
_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_  
_Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_—_

_February 2_  
_Headmaster,_

**_Thank you!_ **

_Yours,_  
_Sirius_


	2. Professor Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag to Chapter 9 of Book 2, "Prince of Slytherin". Moderate spoilers for events of Book Two.

“Miss Farley, stay after class, please.”

Gemma glances up from packing her bag, startled, to find that Lord—well, Professor—Black has a calm look on his face. When he meets her eyes, he gives a nod, probably meant as a reassurance, and then busies himself at his desk until she’s the last student remaining. She had to give Ayesha a subtle prod in the ribs before she’d actually leave, but honestly. Gemma’s not really worried about Professor Black in the way that some of the others are; of course she’s heard his reputation, but he’s a good teacher so far, two weeks into term, and she’s never seen anything from him in the Wizengamot to suggest he’s as wild as some say.

“You wanted to speak with me, Professor Black?” she asks.

He looks up from his desk and smiles. If she were a different sort of girl, she thinks his smile would make her heart thump a little—he’s very handsome. “Only for a moment. Do you have a class to run off to?”

Gemma shakes her head. “We’ve a spare, sir.”

“Good, good. I won’t keep you; I’m sure your friend is waiting.”

So he had caught her interaction with Ayesha. She knows she shouldn’t be surprised—he was an accomplished Auror—but she hadn’t noticed him watching. “Of course, sir.”

“Well. I wanted to take a moment to thank you,” he says, to her further surprise. “Harry and I spoke about your offer of alliance.”

“Oh,” she says, and then recovers enough to dip her head respectfully. “I… well. I’m a Slytherin, sir.”

“And you don’t hesitate to take opportunities when you see them, I know.” He smiles at her wide eyes. “I’ve shocked you. Well, Gryffindor though I was in school, I _was_ raised a Black. I know politics, and I see a good politician in you, Miss Farley. I only wanted to offer my compliments—and my appreciation. You, none of you, had any obligation to throw my godson a rope, but you have. Self-serving in some ways, but you also might have let him sink or swim, and jumped on board only after you knew for certain it was safe.”

Gemma clears her throat, then decides that with this man who seems to see right through her and doesn’t mind her knowing it, honesty is probably the best policy. “Harry’s a good kid, sir,” she says. “And I like him. He’s polite and helpful and curious. I think he could be a credit to the House and… and to the magical world, but he’s going to need help. Allies. He’s the sort who’ll pull the rest of us up with him, if we prove worthy of his effort.”

“But only if you prove worthy,” Professor Black says, still smiling that disarming smile. “You’ve got good insight, too.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re a credit to your House, Miss Farley,” he says. “I feel I owe you a kindness in return for the one you’ve offered to my Heir. If ever you’re in need of a favour from the House of Black or its Lord, only ask and I will see what I can do.”

That’s _huge_. Merlin. Gemma swallows and bows, because it seems the right thing to do. “You are very generous, Lord Black,” she says. “I won’t forget.”

“Nor I.” He waves a hand, then. “Go ahead, Miss Farley. Oh, and pass my greetings—and my compliments on her child-rearing—to your mother.”

“I will, sir,” Gemma says, grabs her bag with white-knuckled hands, and darts out of the classroom. She almost charges directly into Ayesha, who grabs her arms to steady her, and then places her warm palms on Gemma’s face.

“Are you okay?” she says. “You look like you’ve seen an Inferius.”

Gemma shakes her head, leans briefly into Ayesha’s touch, and then pulls away before anyone can come along. “I’m fine,” she says. “Just… offering help to Potter was a damn good idea.”

Ayesha snorts. “I knew that.”

“You don’t know the _half_ of it,” Gemma says, and in an undertone begins to explain what happened as they walk together toward the library. Homework waits for no man, not even a force of nature like Lord Black.


	3. The Rat - Book One Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "missing scene" from The Nascent Threat Chapter 10; Halloween night from Neville's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbeta'd, and also AO3 ate my italics - I've put them back in as I can, but I probably missed some and may give it another go over, so if you come back and read this again later and find some sudden _emphasis_ that's why!

“No, really—“  


“—it wasn’t us!”  


“Yeah, right,” Ron scoffs, and ducks under the attempt of one of the twins to scruff his hair. “Who else could pull off something like that?”  


“It was brilliant,” Neville says. “We wouldn’t tell.”  


“We wish we could claim the credit,“ Fred says.  


“But we really can’t.” George adds. “It really was someone else.”  


“Maybe our scaly friend?” Fred poses, contemplatively.  


Neville shakes his head. He knows Harry has been up to something with the twins—they’ve been making sly references to it for a few weeks, and the assault on Draco Malfoy hasn’t exactly been subtle—but he doesn’t think Harry would know how to do something like this. Harry is good, but not that good.  


Then again, his friend is a Slytherin, so maybe he’s hiding more than Neville knows. It’s something he wonders about, from time to time, what goes on inside Harry Potter’s head. He trusts in their friendship, but Harry is… complicated sometimes.  


But now’s not the time to worry about that. It’s been a good night, and as Fred gives the password to let them all past the Fat Lady into the cozy warmth of the Gryffindor common room, Ron says, “Wanna come up and play cards? Seamus and Dean were talking about it earlier.”  


Neville nods readily. “Sure,” he says. He could use the distraction. Even with the fun of the prank at the Feast, and the good food and sweets, his mood is always a bit low on Halloween, because… well, because.  


Ron leads the way up the stairs, waving to Hermione, who came back a bit ahead of them and is already absorbed in a book in one of the common room armchairs; she just waves distractedly back and immediately returns to reading. Neville just smiles, fond, and Ron laughs, and then they’re stepping into their dorm room—Seamus and Dean are always back and have started a game of Exploding Snap. Neville and Ron sit down with them and they stop to deal the two of them in, all of them chatting excitedly about the prank.  


“We should stay up until midnight,” Seamus says, part way through their first game. “Y’know, it’s Halloween and all.”  


“The witching hour!” Dean crows. “Sure, mate. Maybe we could tell ghosts stories!”  


“Ooh, yes,” Seamus says.  


Hesitantly, Neville clears his throat and interjects, “Um.”  


The other three all turn to look at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Neville wonders if he’d command as much of their attention if he weren’t the Boy-Who-Lived; he knows he can be shy. But he is, and it does help sometimes… like now. “I just,” he says, “I’d maybe… rather not? Or, I’ll go to bed early and put up a Silencing Charm if you guys are going to tell scary stories.”  


“Oh, come on,” Seamus says. “Don't be a chicken, Neville!”  


“I’m not!” Neville protests. “I just… Halloween isn’t, uh, my favourite day of the year. And I’d rather try to be… happy. If that’s okay.”  


There’s a pause, and then a wash of realization over the faces of his three dorm-mates.  


“Right, mate,” Ron says stoutly. “Of course. Well, we’ll just stay up and play cards. And I’ve got some Chocolate Frogs!”  


He leaps up to retrieve the candy from his trunk, and both Seamus and Dean give Neville understanding nods. “Sorry, mate,” Seamus says. “Didn’t think of it.”  


“It’s okay,” Neville says. “No reason you would, right? Thanks for, y’know, being okay with it.”  


“Well, come on,” Dean says. “Your turn, then, right?”  


It is, in fact, Neville’s turn, and he plays; Ron comes back with the Chocolate Frogs, they crack them open, and the game goes on. The jovial atmosphere of the dorm is quick to return, at least, and they all chat easily about the Feast and their classes and classmates and the goings-on in the castle. Dean, Seamus, and Ron are all looking forward to the upcoming Gryffindor-Slytherin match; Neville less so, though he’s privately a bit excited to see Harry play for the first time. He doesn’t say that, because Harry is a Slytherin, but it’ll be a bit more interesting than the Quidditch matches usually are sometimes, because it’ll be one of his friends instead of just… people he sort of knows. The only people on the Gryffindor team he’s even a bit close with are the twins, and that’s just because they’re Ron’s brothers.  


Then, as if Neville’s thought about them had summoned them, there’s a tap on the door, and all four second year boys look up to find Fred and George standing in their doorway.  


“Evening, chaps,” Fred—Neville thinks—says.  


“Wondered if we might have a word with our brother.”  


“What do you want?” Ron asks, immediately suspicious.  


“Well,” says George.  


“You see,” says Fred.  


“We’d really like to have a look at Scabbers.”  


Ron narrows his eyes and gets up. “Why?”  


“Just… need to see him,” says George. He and Fred both have a bit of a shifty look about them—more than normal, anyway. Neville gets up too, though he’s not really sure what he’ll do if Ron decides to hex one of them or something. Help, he supposes, but his wand’s on his bedside table across the room. Oh, well.  


“No way,” Ron says. “Not if you’re not going to tell me what you want with him. You’ll probably feed him something nasty!”  


“No, we won’t,” Fred says. “Honestly, Ron. Look, we just… we want to take him somewhere.”  


“You can even come with us,” George says, and makes a gesture. There’s a rustling noise, and Neville sees that George has something in his hand, like a folded scrap of parchment. It seems to have some writing on it, but he can’t make it out from here.  


“I don’t know…” Ron shoots a look at Neville, and Neville shrugs.  


“Please,” the twins say in unison.  


“It’s serious,” Fred adds, and they do look serious, which is odd enough that Neville thinks they might be telling the truth.  


Ron heaves a sigh and says, “Fine. But I am coming, and if you kill him I swear I’m writing mum. Hold on, he’s hiding somewhere over here…”  


Muttering to himself, Ron goes over toward his bed and digs around in the blankets, and then under the bed. While he does that, Neville goes across to where his own bed is next to the door and retrieves his wand. He figures he should go along too, so that there’s another witness in case the twins do do something to Scabbers, Ron, or both.  


Finally, Ron emerges with a faintly squeaking Scabbers held in one of his fists. The rat looks as decrepit as ever, old and fat and greying, and his little nose twitches at all of them—then Ron turns so that the rat is facing toward the twins, and the animal goes totally still in Ron’s fist. Not like he’s died, or something, but like he’s been hit with a Petrificus. Neville has a second to notice, to furrow his brows, and then—and then the rat twists and writhes and Ron is stumbling back with a cry from where the rat is not a rat any more.  


Instead, standing in the middle of the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory is a man who looks almost as decrepit as Scabbers had: middle-aged and fat and greying, his chin covered in a scraggly whisker-like beard matched with long, unkempt sideburns. His front teeth are overlong, and they stick out a little; his eyes are dark and beady like a rat’s, and they dart around at all of them. Then, before anyone can react, he reaches out and snags Ron’s wand where it’d been resting on his bedside table, and he points it at the twins. At George, Neville realizes, horrified.  


“ _Incendio_!” the stranger shouts in a thin, raspy voice, and the orange light of the Fire-Making Charm shoots across the room, toward George—toward the scrap of parchment in George’s hand. Neville gets his wand up, but not in time; Fred reacts first, throws himself sideways and in front of his twin brother. The spell hits his robes and they just burst into flames, so instantly hot that Neville can feel it like a slap in the face. Fred reels back, and then seems to realize that he’s on fire, because he shouts, drops to his knees as if to try to smother the flames. Then he screams, and Neville recoils hard, because Fred is burning, the smell of smoke starting to fill the dorm along with the panicked shouting of Dean and Seamus and Ron.  


Then the stranger points Ron’s wand at Neville. Neville’s own wand is still up, and he holds his stance as firmly as he can, like his gran had taught him, and Sirius is teaching him now. He tries to wrack his brain, but it feels like every single spell has dropped out of it, and he can’t think of a single thing to cast.  


In Neville’s peripheral vision, he can see Ron move, slide out past the stranger and then in front of him, throwing out his arms to block Neville with his body.  


“G-get out of the way!” the stranger says. He still sounds weak, reedy, a little unsure, but… his gaze doesn’t waver from Neville’s face. His grip on Ron’s wand doesn’t falter.  


“No!” Ron shouts back. His voice is shaky, but he doesn’t move, won’t. “You—you’ll have to go through me if you want to hurt Neville!”  


The stranger seems to hesitate, just for a moment. Those beady eyes dart around again, take in George desperately trying to put out the flames in his brother’s robes without harming him further, Dean and Seamus still sprawled on the floor and staring in shock and terror, and Ron standing between his wand and Neville, steadfast. Then he shouts a curse, something unfamiliar, the incantation half-garbled with how fast he says it; Neville can’t quite make it out, but red-purple light flares and Ron shouts hoarsely, clearly in pain, and then he’s just… down. A crumpled pile on the floor next to Dean and Seamus. Dean reaches out and drags him closer, out of the stranger’s path, and Neville is left with nothing between himself and his best friend’s wand in the hands of a man who might be about to kill him.  


_Petrificus Totalus_ , Neville thinks, then he says it out loud; the stranger ducks to the side to avoid the ripple of spell-light. He gets his wand up again before Neville can think of another spell to try.  


At the door, someone says in a strident tone, “What in Merlin’s name is—Fred!”  


It’s Percy’s voice, and the stranger looks at the newcomer, makes a sour face, and jerks his wand just to the side. “ _Bombarda_!” he shouts.  


The door right next to Neville—right between Neville and Percy—explodes. Splinters and larger chunks of wood spray across Neville’s face and arm, sending him staggering to the side. He stumbles and falls, the side of his head colliding with his bedside table, and his vision goes briefly fuzzy. He shakes his head hard, tries to focus, but there’s blood running into one of his eyes from a cut on his forehead just beside his scar. He wipes his hand across his brow, tries to get his thoughts together. His wand is still in his hand; he can see Ron’s on the floor, he thinks, among the fragments of wood from the door. Ron himself is still crumpled by Dean and Seamus, who are shaking him and shouting. He isn’t moving. And Percy is trying to cast an Aguamenti on Fred, but his hands are shaking so much that all he’s getting are droplets of water. The flames, at least, are gone; George is holding Fred, who’s moaning in pain, talking frantically but quietly.  


Neville slumps back against his bedside table even as McGonagall herself appears in the doorway and immediately leaps into action. He can only focus enough to insist that he’s okay, and she hurries to Ron’s side, casting something as she goes; a silvery white cat appears in the air, cocks its head to listen to her, and then vanishes in a darting bolt of silver light.  


Neville loses track of time, feeling dazed. The air smells like smoke and his head hurts. He feels dizzy. There’s a lot of movement and shouting, but he can’t keep track of it, and isn’t sure he wants to.  


“Mister Longbottom,” someone says firmly, and he looks up; McGonagall is looming over him.  


Past her, Dumbledore and Snape are standing together over Ron’s prone form, both chanting in unison with their wands out. Over by Fred, Sirius is kneeling beside George, casting something else with a look of fierce concentration.  


“Professor,” Neville mutters. “I…”  


“You are injured,” she says, and waves her wand, murmuring under her breath. Whatever result she gets makes her frown, and she says, “Relax, Neville. I shall transport you to the Hospital Wing.”  


“Ron?” he asks.  


“He will be fine,” she says, but something about the way she says it makes him worry.  


“The… the rat,” he says. “The rat was a man.”  


Neville can see Sirius’s head snap up from what he’s doing to Fred, a thunderous look appearing on his face. It’s a bit terrifying.  


“I have heard something to that effect from Mr. Thomas and Mr. Finnegan,” McGonagall says crisply. “We shall worry about that when you are no longer concussed. Now, relax.”  


Neville tries. He tries all the way through being transported in a gentle Mobilicorpus down through the Gryffindor common room, which is eerily empty given the commotion, and through the halls to the Hospital Wing. He tries to keep his calm as he waits while Madame Pomfrey deals with Fred and Ron’s more serious conditions, and as she treats him. The clarity of his head after the healing magic does him no favours; it only helps him remember all the more vividly the events of the past hour, the shock and the fear and the emptiness of his stupid useless brain as he tried to find something, anything to do.  


Dumbledore appears after Neville has been staring at the ceiling of the Hospital Wing for what feels like an hour, asks him what happened, and Neville tells him to the best of his ability, answers his questions, and nods along while Dumbledore says something reassuring and meaningless about how it was all under control and would be okay. Then, once he’s alone in the dark, Neville curls into a ball and cries for a little while.  


Once the tears are gone, he promises himself he won’t be so useless again. That thought carries him to a sleep filled with restless dreams, painted in smoke and fire.


End file.
